Chapter Twenty-Four: True Skill

A shrill whistle, inaudible to ordinary ears, swept across the river and entered the ears of the sparrow at the prow of the Ghost Market’s treasure ship.

Not knowing where he was, and not daring to act rashly, Qi Xiu had waited in place for three days. Now, watching the treasure ship turn slowly toward him, he felt an unexpected sense of kinship.

All your fault, you damned scoundrel.

You nearly got me trapped and lost in this forsaken forest.

Cursing the already-dead Peng Chong in his heart, Qi Xiu’s face was heavy with resignation.

In these three days, he finally understood what it meant to have money but nowhere to spend it.

He carried over a thousand taels in silver notes, yet here, by this desolate riverside at the edge of the forest, he couldn’t spend a single coin.

If not for a small patch of apple trees growing unexpectedly at the edge of the pine forest, he’d have been half-dead from hunger, if not starved outright.

Fixing his gaze on the approaching treasure ship, Qi Xiu leapt onto the rail.

At last, he could go home.

He made his way down the familiar passage along the ship’s deck toward the stern.

Once again, he pushed open that vermilion door studded with copper coins.

The bustling, bizarre, and cacophonous Ghost Market unfolded before his eyes once more.

No time like the present.

Should I stop by the Merry Pavilion today and pass judgment on those wayward girls?

Standing at one end of the Ghost Market’s main street, Qi Xiu stroked his chin and pondered quietly.

Well, since I’m here, there’s no harm in taking a look.

A faint smile touched his lips, and he set off with a light step, following the route he’d taken yesterday toward the Merry Pavilion.

“Secret manuals, secret manuals! Top-grade martial arts techniques—internal and external skills, all bundled! Ten taels for three volumes, don’t miss your chance!”

Qi Xiu’s ears perked up, and he took three steps back to the stall where the vendor’s call rang out.

“Are these manuals genuine?” he asked.

On the stall, which was barely two square meters, seven or eight stacks of manuals lay scattered. Judging by their battered covers and the oil stains, they’d clearly changed hands many times.

Qi Xiu picked one up and flipped through it.

With his current level of calligraphy, he could easily estimate the age of the ink.

Remarkable—each one was at least fifty years old.

“Of course they’re genuine! Would I be selling them here if they weren’t? Ten taels for three volumes—this is your only chance! These are all high-level manuals; master just one and you’ll be incredible!”

Sensing Qi Xiu’s interest, the vendor’s tongue was as eloquent as a lotus blossom, weaving tales that made the books sound like scriptures capable of granting immortality.

“Enough, enough. They’re not real secret techniques, so don’t oversell them,” Qi Xiu interrupted, waving a hand to quiet the man.

“If I had true techniques, would I be peddling them here?” The vendor chuckled, unoffended, and said no more.

Qi Xiu leafed quickly through the manuals, not focusing on the content.

He was using his second-level calligraphy skill to discern their authenticity.

Besides granting him the character for “Martial,” the second level allowed him to sense the lingering spirit of those who’d written the manuals.

This method wasn’t foolproof, but it was more reliable than mere guesswork.

“Hmm? This one will do.”

No sooner had he opened the manual than he sensed a unique energy flowing between the lines.

Turning to the cover, he read: “Striking Acupoints from Afar.”

Perfect. He already had Black Sand Palm for close combat and Swallow Flight for movement. This technique would nicely fill the gap in his mid- and long-range arsenal.

Satisfied, Qi Xiu pulled out five taels in small silver pieces and handed them to the stall owner.

“Just one? These are rare manuals—many would give anything for them! How about two more? For ten taels, I’ll give you four volumes!”

Qi Xiu shook his head. “No need. With martial arts, more is not always better.”

Waving his hand, he stood and left.

Had this been two months ago, he’d have bought every manual on the stall without a second thought.

But after two months of training, he’d learned a thing or two.

This world was no game.

Martial arts manuals weren’t skill books to be absorbed by slapping them on your forehead.

Even with his proficiency, he still had to practice every move diligently, though he could avoid some of the detours most people would take.

So, the allure of these manuals had faded for him.

Unless, of course, it was a true technique…

“By the way, is there anywhere in the Ghost Market where one can buy genuine secret manuals?” Qi Xiu asked, crouching down beside the stall as he was about to leave.

“No!” the vendor replied irritably, having met a stingy customer.

“Really?”

“Even if there were, you couldn’t afford them.”

“So there really are some! How much? I do have some savings,” Qi Xiu replied, confident.

With a roll of his eyes, the vendor slowly raised five fingers.

“Five thousand taels? That’s not so much,” Qi Xiu said lightly, holding ten thousand taels in reserve.

“Bah! Dream on—fifty thousand! And that’s if you can even find one for sale.”

“Fifty thousand?”

Even though he’d been prepared, Qi Xiu was taken aback by the price.

Fifty thousand taels of silver—what did that mean? That was nearly ten years of taxes for Baohe County, just to buy a single genuine manual.

“True techniques aren’t something ordinary people can ever access. Even if you get one, you might not have the means to practice it. So I say, buy a few more of my manuals, train hard, and in time, you’ll forge your own path.”

The vendor’s words circled back to his own wares, his tone earnest.

But Qi Xiu had already lost interest in the conversation.

He stood up, deep in thought, his mind churning with possibilities.

True martial techniques were even more precious than he’d imagined.

No wonder Qian Yuchuan had been so ecstatic when he realized that animal-hide scroll was a genuine Cold Waterfall technique.

Fifty thousand taels of silver.

Tch. Even if I wrote until my brush broke, I couldn’t earn that much.

That settled it—he’d have to pay close attention to the remainder of the Cold Waterfall technique in Qian Yuchuan’s hands.

But where was that man now? That was the real problem.

Mulling it over, Qi Xiu abandoned his plan to visit the Merry Pavilion and pass judgment on the dissolute young women there.

The Ghost Market’s treasure ship made its rounds every three days—there’d be another chance.

Tucking the manual into his robe, he disembarked near Baohe County when the ship passed by and hurried home.

…

A pale moon hung in the sky, the sea of trees in the mountains swaying in the night wind.

“Hyah!”

“Hyah!”

“Hyah!”

At the end of the forested road, more than a dozen powerful black horses snorted steam from their nostrils as they thundered forward, hooves kicking up clouds of dust.

On their backs rode burly, cold-faced men, lean and hard-eyed, dressed in tight, short winter garb that did nothing to hide their imposing presence.

“How far are we from Baohe County, Fifth Brother?”

At the head of the group, a tall, dominant man with a braided queue and a short beard beckoned Qian Yuchuan over.

“Master Senior Brother, we’re less than fifty li away. We’ll arrive before dawn,” Qian Yuchuan replied, his usual arrogance replaced by respectful deference.

“Good!”

With a nod, the Senior Brother waved his hand, and their pace quickened.

In the darkness, countless sinister insects and venomous snakes watched the riders race past.

Their gazes stretched all the way to the Qian residence in Baohe County, where atop the roof, Daoist Priest Wu sat cross-legged, absorbing the moonlight. He slowly opened his eyes, a cold killing intent flickering in his vertical pupils.

“Taibao Sect! So, it’s you!”

A chilling, eerie laugh issued from the Daoist’s mouth—unhurried and calm, like a venomous snake patiently lying in wait for its prey.

Fate had drawn two great powers together in this small county.

By the strangest of coincidences, a deadly contest was about to begin.

And at this moment, the instigator of it all, Qi Xiu, returned home humming a tune, utterly oblivious to the bloody storm about to break around him.

He lay back in his rocking chair, already pondering tomorrow’s training regimen.